


Finally Have A Reason

by flamingburningfandomtrash



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Happy ending though, I just wanted to frustrate you people, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reader has a lotta problems, not too angsty just annoying, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23615227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingburningfandomtrash/pseuds/flamingburningfandomtrash
Summary: In which Sans already has a girlfriend: it just isn't you.And she's perfect.How is she perfect?It doesn't feel fair to hate her as much as you do, especially with how great she is.She's perfect for him....Until she's not.
Relationships: Sans (Underfell)/Reader
Comments: 58
Kudos: 233





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hehe there's a lotttttta pining here  
> just hold out until he end my dudes it turns out well

Sometimes, you can’t put a finger on why you hate a person. Your brain comes up with reasons, tries to rationalize things, but when you say to out loud, it sounds crazy. Why is it, that just the way they BREATHE sets you off? The way they say the word apple? Maybe it’s that necklace they wear that’s just a bit too gaudy, or the way they capture your friend’s attention, leaving you feeling oddly left out. 

But one of the best feelings in the world- aside from stepping on dead leaves and getting that amazing *crunch* noise, you know the feeling- is finding out you were right about them all along. 

~~~~~~

You hate her. SO much, it hurts. Sans’ girlfriend. Your best, best friend’s girlfriend. And you hate yourself for hating her. And you hate Sans for not hating her like you do. You could always come to him with everything before. If it were anyone else in the whole world, you could come to him saying you want them dead, and he’d have it done before you could say another word. If you told him about anyone who ever made you cry that day, he would sit there with you and let you get out all your pent-up anger, give you a hug, and then slip off. You don’t know where he goes- heh, sometimes you worry he’s ACTUALLY murdering people. But he comes back satisfied, and he tells you that it will be fine. And it always is.

But if anyone were to ever say a word against- ugh, even her name- Catherine, he would kill them. You laugh, face screwed up in a pained smile. An endless paradox of murder. 

What’s horrible is, you don’t have a single reason for hating her. She’s fun, sweet, hilarious, and a super reliable friend. She’s pretty. She’s smart- a bioengineer, screw it. You honestly don’t even know what it MEANS to be a bioengineer. You just know it took a lot of college. College you dropped out of in the third year to start your knitting company. You used to get a lot of satisfaction out of it… and- and you still do! Hand-knitting sweaters for people, seeing them around town, smiles on faces- that’s always made you happy. But in comparison to something like THAT, that’s probably helping millions of people… it feels insignificant. Worthless. You can only knit so many jackets in a day. She’s probably making- oh, who knows, solar-powered flying cars! What the hell is bioengineering, anyway?! You should google it. 

She doesn’t do anything wrong. Ever. EVER ever. So you can’t rationalize being mad. It’s not like she’s keeping you from seeing Sans, or anything: he hangs out with you all the time, save some of your evening hangouts. That should be fine. But when you’re alone on those nights, when he should be falling asleep, watching a movie with you, you just imagine what they must be doing together. Making out. Making LOVE. The thought makes you shudder for some reason. The thought of them being intimate makes you want to die.

Yep. That’s a new fun thought you get to toy around with.   
Death.  
And knitting yourself nice, soft, long sleeved sweaters.

Of course, Sans knows you’re hurting, he can read you like a book. Whenever you get time with him, he’s always asking what’s wrong, if you’re okay, if you’re in a bad place. You can’t tell him the truth about what you think of her, it… it would crush him. Whether he was mad at you, or disappointed you didn’t like someone he loves, or something else altogether. It doesn’t matter what you’re going through. You want him to be happy; and he is! He always really is. Whenever he’s with her, he’s happy. The thought makes you tremble with anger, but you have no right to ruin that for him. 

You’ll see him tomorrow. He invited you over for a bit, a party or something. Catherine wanted you and him as your plus twos. You don’t mind too much- if they don’t get too kissy-kissy, she’s really pleasant to be around.

For some reason, that makes you feel significantly worse.

~~~~~~

Sans is worried. 

Like, sweating-and-biting-nails-if-he-had-them worried.

It’s you. He can always tell what’s going on in your head, always has been able to. And the HURT and ANGER and PAIN coming off of you is unbearable. He wants you to tell him. He wants YOU to say it, he doesn’t want to force it out of you or anything, that’s not how you like to be treated. You like comfort. Venting sessions, long talks, hugs, eating your feelings. Knitting him sweaters with all of your anger-energy, yelling abut this person or that one, this problem and that problem. You haven’t done any of it since he started dating Cath. He’s considered asking if that’s what’s wrong, it’s crossed his mind, but he doesn’t want to know what your answer is. Because either he’s wrong, and you still refuse to tell him, or you tell him he’s right, and he’s left with a really awkward position between the two really good friends he has. His girlfriend and his best friend.

He’s going to try to get a minute with you at this party, to try and pester it out of you (again), maybe use a little of the alcohol. Cath can find some of her friends, she has a gazillion of them. And she knows he needs to talk to you.

“Babe, you look stressed,” she says, walking behind him on the couch and plopping beside him. “What’s happening?”

“just. y’know.”

“Y/N?”

“yeah.”

“I don’t see it! I don’t see what you see, baby, she always looks fine to me. You should talk to her if you think something’s wrong, don’t get me wrong, but I’m just not trackin’. Maybe she’s fine! You sure this isn’t all in your head?”

“i’m sure. she… she stopped talking to me a while ago. i don’t know. don’t worry about it, baby, i’ll figure it out.”

“You always do! Okay, I’m going to go change for the party, what are you gonna wear?”

“this.”

“Oh, come on…!!”

“i’m not comin’ on anywhere but to you, baby, you know i like this outfit.”

“Well, I’m flattered: but fine. Wear your stinky jacket, if you insist!”

He reaches back to give her a little kiss, smiling as she goes up the stairs. Yeah, maybe this will be fine. You’re okay. Maybe this is all just in his head.

~~~~~~

You’re standing at the door to the host’s house, waiting on Sans. Catherine is the only person who knows anyone here, and you’re too nervous to go in without somebody you know by your side to introduce you. And besides, you want to see Sans. Maybe the two of them would be alone and, who knows, forget about you or something. Your gut twists, and you pull the extra-long sleeves on your sweater a little farther down over your hands. Maybe this was a bad idea. 

There’s his bike- Catherine hops off the back the second it revs to a stop in the driveway, pulling off her helmet and kissing the visor on his. You look away quickly, wondering why your chest feels like it’s going to explode. 

“hey,” you hear behind you- you whip around, maybe a little jumpier than necessary. You just didn’t expect him to be that FAST. 

“Hi,” you manage, giving a lopsided smile. Your chest is still expanding. Your ribs should be broken, by now, you’re sure.

His grin fades. You look seriously sick, or something. Jumpy. You finch when he reaches out to give you a one-armed hug. His soul aches seeing you all messed up like this. 

“mind talkin’ for a minute after we meet everybody? just, you and me?”

You open and close your mouth, then nod. Catherine comes up, looping a hand around Sans’ elbow, and giving you a bright, happy smile. It’s contagious, much as you hate that it is, and smile back.

“You guys go talk, I can introduce you to everyone later! I think Jenny’s upstairs, getting ready, I’m gonna go help, okay?”

“ok, baby,” Sans responds, pecking her on the head before knocking. He gages your reaction carefully, frowning when he sees the smallest bit of green tinging your face.

You walk in- it’s a pretty pumpin’ party, lots of music and red solo cups. (You’ve seen movies- you know what it looks like.) Sans pushes Catherine off towards the stairs- on her ass, might I add. She giggles, blows him a kiss, and heads that way. 

“welp, guess we’re talkin’ now,” he says. Oddly enough, you feel like everyone else in the room has gone silent and dark, even though they’re still talking. You look around at the moving lips and dance moves in the darkness. They don’t seem to notice the simple spotlight on you and Sans as you maneuver through the crowd. You don’t bother asking him what he did: magic, you’d have to guess. And he wouldn’t do anything that could hurt anyone, certainly not if it effects his Caty-Cat. Ugh.

“so. today the day you’re gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” you insist. It’s like a muscle-memory. 

“you remember how we played two truths and a lie? and i literally always knew when you were lying? or poker? or, hell, i knew what your next move was in CHESS. i know when somethin’s wrong with ya, and something is definitely wrong.”

“No, it’s not. You- heheh, you’ve really gone crazy this time.” You smile at him, hopefully, but his deadpan expression shuts down the humor in a second. “Okay. So maybe I’m not totally fine. Neither are you, and I’m not going around smothering me about it.”

Ouch. You flinch, waving your hands apologetically.

“I- nonono, that’s not what I meant. I really like you asking if I’m okay, it means the world to me. I live for it. Or, uh, I used to. But this isn’t something you can fix. So you shouldn’t be worrying about me.”

When he doesn’t respond, you look up at him- he meets your eyes, concern written all over his face.

“are you ok?”

That time, it was so tender. So worried. You feel your stomach drop, and sudden, persistent tears jump to your eyes. You blink, trying to get them to go away, but every time you get a few away, more jump in their place. You want to say everything. Tell him that it hurts like hell, that it’s all his fault he started dating her when you were wide open all along, and you thought it was obvious how much you wanted to be his, but apparently it WASN’T, because he found the love of his life, and you’re just the cheap, expendable friend.

“hey, hey, woah. don’t cry.”

You dab at your eyes- if you smear your mascara you’ll definitely have to go home after this.

“No, it’s fine, I’m fine, I just don’t do well under pressure,” you sniff. You can feel the dam cracking, if you don’t get out of here you’ll be spilling your guts on instinct. “I’m going to go to the bathroom, okay? I’ll- I-I’ll be back in a minute-“

“no- don’t do that, c’mon. if i did something wrong, i wanna know. ‘m sorry if i drilled ya too hard or somethin’… i didn’t mean ta…”

“I know,” you laugh, sadly, turning back towards the front door, the stairs, the bathroom up on the second floor. If you can make it that far, you’re safe for the rest of the night. “That’s what makes you the prefect friend, right?”

~~~~~~

Sans’ soul aches- it’s turning into more of a burn, now, as you head away from him. The chatter and music come back to full volume, the spotlight diminishes, and he loses you in the crowd. Damnit. 

“Perfect friend.” That stung. If only you knew what he knows, you would eat your words in a SECOND. Friend. Psht. 

And now you’re running away from him. He probably won’t see you for the rest of the night, knowing you. He hopes you’re alright. At least- somewhat alright.

~~~~~~

Bathroom, bathroom- ah. There we go. You sigh gratefully when you see it, at the end of the hall. Scot-free. Safe. You just need to make it before any drunk couples come stumbling in, and you’re all good.

Unfortunately, you can already hear someone in there. You sigh and sit outside it, waiting. They have to come out eventually, you think. Either they’re drunk, high, actually going to the bathroom, or just trying to escape the party like you are-

-a loud moan comes from inside, and you stand up abruptly.  
Or they’re doing THAT.

No other bathroom upstairs, you sigh, rubbing your temple with your hand. The only other one is downstairs, and you would have to go past Sans to get to it. Wait- Catherine said she was helping Jenny! Whoever she is. If you can find her, she’ll help you get to a bathroom without letting Sans get to you. She’s a good friend! Friends have your back. All you need is someone you know. Okay. Logic time, you think. You know Jenny is the host. If she’s the host, she lives here. If she’s getting ready, up here, then her bedroom must be up here. She can’t be getting ready in the bathroom, obviously, because it’s… occupied. All you have to do is find the bedroom, and you’re in the clear! Smiling at your own genius, you go down the hall. 

Well, here’s the bedroom- if the fairy lights on the door mean anything. You smirk. She’s an adult, damnit, and she still has a “No Boys Allowed” sticker over the doorknob. Either this is a really old house, or she is really not interested in having a partner. 

“Hey! Um, Jenny? Catherine? Can I come in?”

No answer. You knock.

“Is anybody in here?”

Nothing.

“I’m just gonna come in now, okay?”

You crack the door open and stick your head in- nobody’s in here. Oh. You blush- wow, you really must have looked like an idiot. You feel someone tap you on the shoulder, and you spin around, already apologizing. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m not spying, I’m just looking for Catherine!”

“Uh. Cool. Did you say you were looking for Jenny?”

It’s a tall, lanky guy who kind of smells like weed. He looks at you appraisingly. You just shake your head apologetically, shrugging.

“I was looking for her to help find Catherine, she said she was going to help her get ready and then she went up here. You don’t know where she is, do you?”

“Oh. Well, uh, Jenny’s bedroom is downstairs. This is her little sister’s room. So I don’t know why she went up here. I was just coming in here because it’s too crowded. Good luck, uh, I guess.”

“Oh.” You frown. Maybe she didn’t know where Jenny’s bedroom was. She probably went back downstairs after she realized it- your heart freezes for a second. Wait. “Oh okay I have to go bye-“

She wouldn’t.

You cross the hallway in three strides, praying you aren’t right. 

She’s too nice. She wouldn’t.

You get to the bathroom door- the moaning is louder now.

She’d BETTER not have.

You open the door.

Half-dressed, splayed out all over the floor, is Catherine. Making out rather passionately with some guy you’ve never seen before.

“Oh my god,” he yelps, half-throwing her off of him. He looks utterly terrified. You feel like your stomach is full of rocks. Your lungs are full of rocks. Your throat is full of rocks. Heavy and choking and nauseating. No, no no no… this is all wrong.

“Y/N, what are you doing in here?” she says, surprisingly calmly, standing up and walking over to you like nothing happened. She’s not wearing a shirt, and her skirt is all rumpled up. You stammer, eyes wide. “Nothing. Okay!”

She tries to shut the door in your face, but you stick out a hand and hold it open.

“What are YOU doing in here?” you choke out. “With HIM? Sans is waiting for you downstairs, he’s going to be crushed, why would you do th-“

“Oh, no, he’s not going to be crushed! Because you didn’t see anything.”

“Wh- you actually think I’m not going to tell him? I’m his best friend!”

“I’m just satisfying myself, it’s no big deal. Sansy doesn’t have lips or- well, you know- he’s a skeleton! There aren’t any feelings in it, it’s just a little hook-up.”

“How- how long have you been doing this?”

“That’s none of your business, right?”

“I… no. I’m going to tell him, or you’re going to tell him yourself.”

She freezes. You’ve never seen her eyes look so cold before.

“Fine. I’ll just let him know that you’ve been jealous all along. Imagine how much more crushed he’ll be that you were never really his friend. You just wanted him, and I got him. Oh- and not to mention, well-“ she grabs your wrist and yanks back the sleeve, revealing the scratches and scars on your arm. “THESE. I’ve been covering for you all this time! You know, telling him that you’re fine. I didn’t want to worry him, and neither did you. But that will be over if you do this. You know what they do with the people who try to kill themselves? They go off to correctional facilities. And they stay there for years.”

You feel the tears, but you don’t know how they’re coming out. Your head has no tears in it, only rocks. 

“I…”

“You won’t say anything, right? You don’t want to get involved.”

“I… I won’t say anything. Just please don’t say anything about… about this.”

“Of course! We’re friends! You might want to go home, you look terrible. Hehe- no offense.”

“No- I’ll… I’ll go home. Have… heh. Have fun.”

She frowns slightly at the malice in the words. You just turn around and go, pulling your sweater tighter around yourself, tears spilling down your face. She’s ruining everything. She’s ruining the delicate little system you had going.

She’s finally given you a real reason to HATE her.

~~~~~~~

Sans watched you leave- you looked like you were crying, you were pulled in on yourself. You looked like you were in so much pain. Angry. So, furiously angry. And sad. Heartbreakingly sad. He’d crossed through the waves of people, trying to get to you before you made it out the door, but it was like trying to catch water in his fingers. You slipped away and seemed to vanish. He’d checked outside, but your car was gone. You were gone.

And he’d called. It had gone straight to voicemail.  
Again, and again. Same stupid voicemail.   
Texting didn’t do anything either.  
Hell, he tried emailing you.

He didn’t get a single damn response.

~~~~~~~

One day, you’d told yourself. You just need one day to let all this process, and then you ought to get back on your feet and make a decision. Be a man- or whatever. Just, fight back, pluck up some courage! Sans deserves to know what’s going on: even if it means you get carted off somewhere. 

But that fear kept you in bed for a week. You stress-ate, slept, and only got up to use the bathroom and… well. That thing. Your razors were really struggling from all this. You must have had innumerable texts and calls from Sans. Maybe he already knew about you.

The fear of seeing him kept you in bed for two weeks.  
It kept you in your house for three.   
It kept you from talking to anyone for a month.

You haven’t seen him in a month. Because you’re scared to see her. HER.  
The thought makes your stomach drop and a shudder roll through you.  
But Sans calls you every few hours anyway. On the off chance you’ll answer. 

~~~~~~

Curled up around yourself in bed, you keep thinking. The same circular train track of thought, always leading you back to the same painful beginning. 

You were jealous, weren’t you? All along, always jealous! You did want Sans with you, and not with her. You thought you liked him as a friend, because he just… made everything so easy. He made you want to get your shit together and try for him. Maybe he couldn’t make you love yourself, or make you really feel like the goddess he always told you you were. but that takes time. Time that was interrupted by her arrival. Yeah, he used to say things like that to you, before SHE came along. Before she stole his heart and his attention. And now you realize why you hated her. She wasn’t a bad person- or, hell, you don’t know how long this has been going on, maybe you just didn’t SEE her as a bad person- she just got the love you’d wanted. You were jealous.

So she was right about that. But how much else was she right about. Would Sans, I don’t know, turn you in if he found out about what you’ve done to yourself. He doesn’t seem like that type of person, but who are you to know? She might know him better than you do, she’s been hanging out with him for a month now, and he doesn’t have many other friends. If him calling you every hour or two is any evidence.

She said it didn’t mean anything. Was she right about that, too? Maybe she really was just getting her- ugh- satisfaction- and moving on. But there are other ways to do it without cheating on him.

He doesn’t deserve her. She’s not treating him like you would.  
If you had him.  
Which you don’t.

She was right about you being jealous.

~~~~~~~

Sans is fed up with all of this. You won’t answer your phone, you haven’t posted a single thing online, and from what he’s able to tell, you haven’t left your house. You don’t need to leave your house for work or anything, all you do is knit and build the cardboard boxes to ship out your clothes. So maybe you’re just working really hard. But he doubts it, somehow. Something clearly happened at that party: he just has no idea what.

Catherine is clueless. She keeps saying that she was upstairs, helping Jenny get ready, when you stumbled in. She said you looked really upset about something. Cath had tried talking to you, she said, but you were just sniffling and angry. And then you saw her, turned tail, and left. He can read her face as easily as he reads yours. He knows she’s lying to him. But why? And about what? Honestly, if your breakdown was any example he doesn’t want to pressure her into talking.

Much as she insists he shouldn’t see you, for whatever reason, he’s going to your house today. And if you don’t open the door- he’s coming in anyway.

You’re his friend. His closest friend. 

He needs to know if something is wrong.

~~~~~~

You look up suddenly when you hear a loud- borderline aggressive- knock on your front door. Pounding. 

“hey! y/n?”

You freeze- there are the rocks again. All over, crushing you. You don’t stand a chance against spilling everything you know if you open the door, and you can’t risk that. 

“if ya don’t lemme in, i’m comin’ in myself."

Your best bet is to hide. Though if he finds you, that would be an awkward situation… you know your house better than he does. And he doesn’t know about the secret loft.

“i’m only waiting a minute. c’mon.”

You scramble out of bed and up the side of your *very* tall bookcase, thanking past you for anchoring it to the wall. Up, behind the curtain that looks like a window curtain, but isn’t, and into the loft, covering yourself in pillows. You can still hear his muffled talking- he sure is being loud. 

“i’m coming in, alright! i’m gettin’ tired of the hiding.”

He shortcuts straight into your room- that’s the best bet of where you’ll be, to him, anyway. If you had told him about the loft, you would be toast right now. 

“hey. i know you’re in here, i can see all your messed up blankets. where’d ya go.”

You hold your breath, stare into the darkness of pillows.

“please be here- shit, shit, if she’s- god… please don’t say you ran away or somethin’. cath’s gonna chew me out if i haft go on a road trip looking for ya.”

Your chest suddenly gives an acute, sharp ache, and you let out the tiniest whimper. Seemingly, you aren’t the only one who felt it.

“so you are here…” he mutters. “i’m close, aren’t i? real close.”

Another jerk on your sternum. You feel like you might cry. 

“so… is it me? if i hurtcha somehow- and- and i would never, ever hurtcha- i wanna know. if you still wanna hide in here for the rest of your life scared to death of me, i won’t blame ya. heh, i’m an annoying uggo, and i know it. but i do wanna know why. what happened at the party. what set you off? it- ngh- literally kinda hurts.”

You feel the tears building. If you start sniffing, he WILL hear you. You put your hands over your nose and mouth. It might choke you, but you don’t care.

“is it catherine? if i’m not spendin’ enough time around here, you could always say somethin’. ‘m sorry for bailing on so many movie nights.”

You want to scream, it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault at ALL, it’s HER, she’s going to ship me off somewhere, and it’s my fault for that, and I can’t see you because I would tell you what she did, what she’s DOING, and then my secret would be out too and you would get rid of me. You repeat that in your head, over and over, waiting for him to speak and drown out your thoughts. You would get rid of me. You would get rid of me. And it would be MY fault. 

“i wouldn’t get rid’a ya,” he breathes. “is that what you’re thinkin’? ’s like i can feel it. i wouldn’t, i swear i wouldn’t. you mean the world to me. hell, underground included. everything. why would i ever- HOW would i get rid of you?”

You hear soft steps drawing closer to your hiding place, and you pull the pillows tighter around you, willing yourself to die and stay dead, let him find a body up here and let you never have to deal with all of this. 

“why would i get rid of the- well, you and cath- the best things i got goin’? i don’t care what it is you gotta tell me so bad. i don’t care. i wouldn’t leave ya. i would never. you’ve been nothin’ but good to me, you were always by me when i was at my worst. and we both know you nearly died a million times on account of my stupid-ass nightmares, me thrashing and attacking shit like i did. lemme help you. please.”

He hears the tiniest whimper, a little muffled sniff, come from the bookshelf. Are you behind it? He crosses over to it, rubs a phalanx on the wood, frowning. 

“i’d kill for ya, y’know. say the word, nobody’ll ever hurtcha again.” when he elicits no response from the bookshelf, he presses his forehead to it. “i can feel ya, somewhere in here, i know it. ’s like your soul is screaming at me. i just don’t know what it wants.”

A quickly stifled sniff, followed by a choking sound. He finally looks up at the window curtain, pulling back the fabric. A room? He shortcuts to the top of the bookshelf, crouching and peering in. A pile of pillows in the small room is shuddering, and he can see hair peeking out from under the pillowcases. 

“found’ja,” he breathes. “what do i win?”

When the shuddering stops, he brushes the pillows aside. Damn. You’re a wreck. No, no, bad thoughts, he scolds himself. He needs to be comforting and listening and shit, or you aren’t going to tell him a word. Underground Sans can go away for a minute. You need Free Sans. If only for a second. If only in this loft. 

“If I t-tell you, you h-have to promise to b-b-believe me. I w-w-wouldn’t lie to you. Please.”

“you literally can’t lie to me, you have a trillion tells. it’s ok. i won’t be mad at you.”

“Catherine… Catherine is cheating on you.”

You spit the words out like poison, like they’re going to turn around and kill you. Sans feels like that poison is seeping into his bones. She- no, she wouldn’t do that to him. Right?

“I caught her- um- doing it- with some guy in the bathroom. At the party. And- a-and… and I said I would tell you, I said I would tell you about this because you’re my friend, and you deserve to know, but-“ your tears come on stronger, and you wipe them away with your sleeves. Now that you’ve started, you can’t seem to stop. “But she said she would tell you about what I do! I- I tried to kill myself, and I didn’t do it right, and I just had to go to the hospital, but I never told you because we’re friends, and friends shouldn’t worry about friends! And I thought you would hate me, and think I was gross, and I couldn’t do that, because I really like you! Like- like, that way. Which is wrong, because you have a girlfriend, and that isn’t fair to you. And when you go home and talk this all through with her, she’s going to tell you that I’m jealous that she got you and not me. You tell her she’s right. I AM. Every…. every day. She’s the luckiest girl on the planet for having you love her so much, and she’s just- throwing it away.”

Your voice dies on the last syllable, and you bury your face in your hands. 

“And it’s my fault. Because I can’t keep my damn mouth shut about anything when you ask like that. Because I like pretending you love me.”

You curl in on yourself like if you squeeze tight enough, you’ll pop out of existence. 

“B-because I like pretending you care about me like you care about her. And I like pretending I’m yours. I’m… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I can’t- heh… I’m sorry I can’t even end myself right.”

The silence after your words is going to choke you. It hurts, all of it, every last thing aches. Suddenly, though, you feel a soft hug loop around your shoulders, not moving you out of your fetal position, but just, holding onto you. You can feel his breathing on the top of your neck, slow and deep and even. You reach out your trembling arms and hug him back.

“I’m sorry she did what she did. You deserve so much better.”

“i’m sorry i didn’t f*ckin’ see it before. and i’m sorry you thought i was gonna kick you to the curb if i found out you were hurting. that’s my fault. i thought it was obvious i wouldn’t pull shit like that. i know you’re tellin’ the truth. you wouldn’t lie to me. you… you care too much. heh. she really did, didn’t she. probably doin’ it right now, now that i’m outta the house.”

His voice sounds so bitter. So tired. You press him tighter into the hug, trying to convey as much reassurance as possible. 

“hey… relax. i’m not leavin’. just- heh, damn. i knew it was too easy to be real. knew i couldn’t get away with it too long before somethin’ cracked. i guess i just thought it would be me.”

“Get… get away with it?”

“i- i really oughta tell ya why i was with’er in the first place,” he sighs. “at first, i wanted- shit, i’m sorry- i just wanted to make ya jealous. i wanted you to say something, i wanted you to tell me that you loved me and all this, and i woulda broke up with her and gone withya. and that makes me a really shitty person, i know: but i loved you. i still do. i just- i don’t know, i started to like her once i got to know her. and i thought maybe, if you wouldn’t say anything, i would just try to go with her instead. convince myself she was you.”

You feel another sharp ache in your chest, but this one ends more softly. A warm feeling waving out from the pressure point, soothing your tense body. You relax, pull back so you can look at him properly. 

“and-“ he stutters once you’re looking at him again- “and i’m sorry i couldn’t just ask first before i went and f*cked with your head. i hurt you.”

He meets your eyes- his are sad, heavy, weighed with regret. 

“i can’t fix that, darlin’. i can’t take it back.”

You feel more tears, and launch back into a hug around his torso, tighter and harder than before. He scoops you up into it, holds onto you with all of the pain he’s got, tries to take it all away from you and put it on himself like he knows he deserves. He can feel the wet of your tears through his shirt. He softly rests his forehead on the crown of your head, crooning softly to calm you. Soft hums, shushes, coos. Soothing, quiet sounds, mingled with apologies.

“I love you. I don’t care what you do with Catherine. I just do.”

“you seriously think i’m getting back with cath? after she lied to my face- well, nah, i don’t blame her for that. that makes her a shitty girlfriend, but i’ve had worse. but, after she threatened to blackmail you? hell no. i’m with you, darlin’. it all came full circle, i guess. if you’ll have me.”

“Yes…” the word is like music, repeated in a breathy, hopeful way, your face pressed to his chest. “Please… please. Yes.”

“i’m sorry. i am. i’m sorry.”

“I know… I forgive you.”

You look up and press your lips to his forehead, around to his temple, his cheek. Barely even kisses- like ghosting your lips over his head, pressing only slightly, hesitantly, like you’re still marveling in the fact that this is real. Your lips don’t hit on him in the same way Catherine’s did. In fact, in comparison to this, Sans thinks the way she did it was rather obnoxious. Hard and quick, and then she was gone. You linger over every spot, nose brushing his skull, breath warm and shallow, hitching every now and then with the aftermath of your tears. 

“i love ya, too. i’m gonna take good care’a ya, i swear. i’m gonna make up for everything i did. i’m gonna- i’m gonna-“ you instinctively jerk away a little when he takes ahold of your hands, but give in gently. “i’m gonna make it all a bad memory, if i can.”

He shifts so he’s reclining on the pillows, then lets you un-ball yourself and lay beside him. You already know how to lie so his bones don’t poke your more sensitive spots- it’s what comes of so many bedroom-computer-movie marathons. The only difference is that now he has one of your hands in his, experimenting with it’s small shape and size, lacing his fingers between yours and holding them all together, rubbing the back with light fingers. 

“at least i know how not to bruise humans now. messed that up with cath. guess she deserved it, in the long run.”

“You don’t have to stop liking her all at once. I get it. She meant a lot to you, even if you didn’t mean for her to.”

“i know. forgive me for that, too, will ya?”

“Sure.”

After a moment, he feels himself slipping off, eyesockets closing, hand going limp around yours.

“life ain’t this nice ta me,” he sighs. “if i wake up with ‘er, i’ll break up with ‘er and come straight to you, ok?”

“I know you will…” you yawn, curling up to him. “I know you’ll do everything perfect, Sans.”

You finally fall asleep- breaths long and even. He stands, after a few moment’s hesitation, dragging the little rug over you like a blanket, tucking you into the pillows. He needs to break things off with Cath right now. He will not be the last one caught cheating in this soon-to-be-dead relationship.

~~~~~~

Two weeks later: 

~~~~~~~

“come out! come out, c’moooon, show me!”

“You’re a creep sometimes, you know that?!”

“they’re just socks, darlin’. besides, YOU lost a bet. you gotta show me.”

You sigh, embarrassed, and walk out. Thigh-high socks, and no pants to show him how high up they go. You have your arms crossed, pouting. He lets out a long whistle- you slug him in the arm, then shove him back into the couch. It’s not YOUR fault Catherine got a new boyfriend two days after Sans broke things off. You just thought she would last a little longer. 

“hey! c’mon, darlin’, ya look cute!”

“YOU look like a creep.”

“already used that insult, try again later.”

“C’mon! Wait… wait, wait a second…” a sly grin comes across your face. “We DID say you couldn’t touch me while I was in these. So… huh. I guess as long as I have ‘em on, you can’t do anything. No kisses… no snuggles… no using me as a body pillow.”

The light in his eyes is giving way to a tiny bit of panic. 

“what.”

“And if you wanted to take them off… that would touch me. So I guess it’s just gonna be a test to see how long you can last before you beg me on your knees.”

“no way in hell am i doin’ that.”

You stretch, showing off your midriff and the pink ice-cream print underwear you’re sporting at the moment. 

“Shame. Welp, I guess we’ll see how long you can last. I bet you won’t last a week.”

“bet i could.”

“We’ll see, tiger.”

~~~~~~

(A mere two hours later:)

~~~~~~

“darlin’… c’mon, you look so snuggly, and hot, and DAMN you’re doing the thing again with your eyes and will ya please let me hold’ja?”

You even got him to say it on his knees.


	2. Bonus~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief encore in which you and Sans get your revenge.

“darlin’, you’re killing me here. i gotta. i gotta do this.”

“No, you don’t! What are you going to do if you get caught?”

“die, i guess.”

“No, no, no. At least- not alone.”

A huge grin spreads across his face as you pull a roll of toilet paper out from behind your back. Sans has been wanting to TP Catherine for a while now- you’ve finally decided to join him.

“I’ve been delaying this for a while now, but it’s going to rain tomorrow. This stuff will go absolutely everywhere with the storm. And we can just sit in here all cozy and watch a movie while I knit the sweater for Mrs. Maheswaran.”

“just knitting?” he fake-sighs, rolling his eyelights and grinning.

“Well… if you’re suggesting there’s something ELSE we could do…”

You both grin, wait a few seconds, then shout in unison, “SLEEP!” You giggle- it’s been a running joke for a while now. You’d asked if Sans had ever, well, slept with Catherine. He said that he did all the actual sleeping, Catherine did the other kind of “sleeping”. Just not with him. The joke still makes a little core of angry heat warm up in your chest, and a bit of fear, too, rooted in there. Whatever she did to your psyche those few weeks you shut yourself off, you don’t like it. It still hasn’t gone away, and it’s been weeks since then.

Sans notices your face darken slightly, and he leans down to give you a quick, toothy kiss on the forehead. “not gonna get rid’a ya. i still love ya. ‘m sure.”

You nod, smiling apologetically- he knows you’re still doubting everything, and he doesn’t mind reassuring you about it every once in a while. 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“don’t gotta apologize.”

“I know. I’m just going to. Because I am sorry.”

“heh. we’re a mess, ain’t we?”

“A little. Alright, I say we leave at around one. She’ll have to be asleep by then- they live together, right?”

“thought so.” 

“Perfect.”

He grins. You really care about him, don’t you? Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever. And you were certainly absent for a quite a while back there. He rather likes this relationship over the one he had with Cath. Yours is slower- you like taking your time with things. It’s still like being with his best friend, but he can get more affectionate. You like kisses, being held, just, time with him. Catherine couldn’t sit still for as long as you can, not by a long shot. She might curl up next to him for a few minutes, tops, to check her phone, but then she was on her feet again, finding something to do. Sans knows there are plenty of people out there who would love that… but not him. He likes how gentle, and patient, and slow you are. You just knit and draw and- do whatever else- curled up to his side while he watches. Sometimes in the secret loft, in the pillows.

And now you’re joining him on his little revenge trip.

You really are his perfect little darlin’.

~~~~~~

1:30 AM: outside Catherine and Jacob’s house, in the car. You’re frowning at the lights in the window. Are they seriously still awake? This late? With the lights on? In the KITCHEN?

“It has to be an accident. They aren’t seriously in there, are they?”

“can’t be. you just wanna go for it?” 

“Hell yeah. You got your stuff?”

He holds up his twelve-count of toilet paper rolls, and the clear sticky wrap stuff. He said he wanted to put it over the front door so they would walk right into it, which you thought was genius. He said he couldn’t count the times he’d done it on his brother. You hold up your things in response: Shaving cream, to put all over the front doormat, so they would step in it, and a camera to plant in a tree to watch the show. You supposed they would find it and take it down eventually, so you bought a really cheap one- though it is waterproof. After going over the materials, you jump out of the car at the same time and start going. 

Trees are first, as those will make for the most clean-up. You launch the rolls of toilet paper at them, running around in total spy-style silence. Sans chucks one over the roof: you have no idea how far it went. You hope it landed in their pool or something. When you both realize that you’re terrible at this, you hand over your ammo and start setting up the shaving cream and plastic-wrap by the door. Admittedly, you have less shaving cream than you expected one bottle to have, but they definitely won’t get away without stepping in at least a little bit of it. And the plastic wrap is definitely secure, all flattened out: you wouldn’t see it unless you were looking.

By the time you’re done, Sans has COVERED each and every tree. You smile a little- he does look happy about this, that’s for sure. You know he’s having a lot of conflicted feelings about her, you can see it when you bring her up. The instincts in him are still there. Defend her, and attack anyone who dare hurt you. But they were together for a while. A little over a year, actually. You can’t blame him for feeling bad. You think he sees this as a bit of a final “cutting of ties”. He wants to finish things off like they should have been from the start.

“you ready to go?” he whisper-shouts your way.

“Yep!” you whisper-shout back.

You run over to him, stuffing the box of plastic wrap and empty shaving cream bottle in your pocket, reminding him not to leave behind anything that could be evidence. He agrees: but he really did use each and every roll. Nothing left of it but the cardboard centers. You’re hopping in the car when you hear the front door open- you keep one leg in, and one leg out to get a good look at whatever unlucky soul is gonna come out of the house. It’s Catherine. She sticks her head out, only to get caught in a mess of sticky plastic. She stumbles forward, trying to get it out of her hair, when she slips on the shaving cream and falls in it. Next comes Jacob: he lands right on top of her. You hop in the car and step on the gas, flying away before she can get a license plate number or anything of the sort.

For some reason, you don’t feel as much triumph as fear. You feel like you just pranked some kind of assassin who’s going to have her revenge before the sun rises. You try to shudder off the feeling, and look over at Sans. He looks much happier than you feel, certainly. 

“damn, that felt good. i needed that. hey, we did it! did you set up the camera?”

“I knew I forgot something,” you laugh, shrugging. “It’s fine, though, we saw the best of it.”

He looks at you appraisingly, then kicks back, grinning. “what’s wrong this time, darlin’? you look terrified.”

“She’s going to KILL me,” you breathe, laughing. Sans notes that you laugh a lot when you’re nervous. He wishes he’d known that a month and a half ago: it would have solved a lot of his problems.

“no, she’s not. she doesn’t even know where you LIVE.”

“Doesn’t she? She’s picked me up from my house before… oh my god, I’m going to die. Oh my god.” Your laughing turns into little maniacal giggles, dragging a hand over your face. “That’s it for me, folks, that’s all the knitter’s got in’er.”

“you’re doing the crazy thing again.”

“Yeah, well, I’m scared. She’s going to come after me. She’s going to do SOMETHING, and it certainly won’t be to you.”

“darlin’, you honestly think i’d let ‘er hurtcha? she ain’t gonna lay a finger on you. if i messed with your head, i know she did twice as much damage. ’s not healthy.”

“Ya think? Oh, I shouldn’t’ve agreed to come do this…”

“we got all night before she can even think about coming after us. it’s gonna storm, remember? how’s she supposed to come pounding on your door in a storm?”

“She’s… not.”

“right. relax! we showed her what happens when you mess with us.”

“Hehe.”

“say it with me, darlin’: hell yes!”

“Hell yes.”

“like you mean it!”

“HELL yes!”

“that’s more like it!” 

You laugh and snort to yourself, letting your hands relax on the wheel. Sans and his weird little antics. He does know how to cheer you up, though, you have to give him that. “Thanks,” you say, smiling honestly. “For everything.”

He chuckles and leans over to press a toothy kiss to your temple. “no problem, darlin’. you were always the best thing i had goin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What were they doing in the kitchen, you ask?  
> No idea. But it sure as h*ck wasn't cooking.

**Author's Note:**

> suck it catherine


End file.
